Page 20 of Falling for Provence

‘I can’tkeepa dog,’ Ellie insisted. ‘I don’t even know how long I’m going to be here. Or where I’m going to live when I go home again.’

The weight of the dog in her lap wasn’t unpleasant, and she could feel his warmth as they sat in a small traffic jam on the narrow street leading back into the centre of Vence. It was reminiscent of the kind of comfort a hot water bottle could provide when you had a tummy ache. The smell of the dog was less pleasant, however, as was the chill of a small, damp nose against the bare skin of her arm, but when Ellie moved, so did the dog, which released more of its dubious odour. Giving up, she stroked the wiry fluff on his head.

‘He needs a name,’ she murmured. ‘I can’t keep calling him “the dog”.’

‘Everyone needs a name,’ Julien agreed.

‘Like Coquelicot and Marguerite.’ Ellie was pleased with herself for remembering to use the French version of the donkeys’ names. ‘You’re good at naming animals. What would you suggest?’

Julien shrugged. The traffic was moving again towards the main square of the town. ‘Spot?’

Ellie ran her hand across more of the spiky, tousled hair on the dog’s body. There were ginger patches, including his ears, but the rest was a dirty white colour. ‘He hasn’t got any spots. He’s very scruffy. Maybe that would be a good name.’

Julien seemed to be concentrating on the available space to pass a large van that was double-parked beside the square. Looking up, Ellie was astonished by how different it looked to when she and Laura had wandered past. There was no room for any quiet games of boules to be happening today. The square, bordered by huge, leafy plane trees, was crammed with people around stalls with bright awnings of red and yellow and white.

‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s market day, that’s all. Every Tuesday and Friday. They’ll start the evening markets for summer soon, though, on Tuesdays, and they go on till about the end of August.’

Ellie could see trestle tables laden with produce as they drove slowly past. Clothing hung from rails at other stalls. People queued for what looked like hot food. A bright blur of flowers as she turned her head to catch a last glimpse. A lot of the people didn’t look like tourists. There were women wheeling trolleys as if this was a normal shopping day for them, and many people had brought their dogs. It was a vibrant scene – the beating heart of a genuine French market town.

‘I’ll have to come one day. It looks fun.’

Julien increased his speed as soon as he reached the main road.

‘I hope you still have time for lunch,’ Ellie said.

‘It doesn’t matter. I can pick up some socca at the market. My clinic is on the other side of the Grand Jardin so it’s very close.’

‘Socca?’

‘A local speciality. Try it when you go there. It’s very good.’

Julien got out of the car when he stopped beside her gate, coming round to open the door for Ellie. It was a courteous gesture that made her feel curiously shy.

‘Thank you so much.’ She held the dog in her arms as she climbed out of the car, and then she looked up to meet his gaze. ‘For everything.’

He held her gaze for a heartbeat. And then another, which made it suddenly more significant than it should have been. It was Julien who looked away first.

‘I’ll get the food. For… what did you decide his name was?’

‘I don’t know. He’s a French dog. He needs a French name. Like the donkeys. What’s the French word for scruffy?’

‘Miteux.’ Julien opened the gate and waited for Ellie to enter first. ‘But it can also mean… what’s the word… sleazy, perhaps?’

‘That’s no good, then. He doesn’t look sleazy.’

‘Maybe Leo? Or Max or Felix?’ Julien put the bag of food down beside her front door. ‘Pascal?’

‘Hmm… I like that. Pascal it is.’ Ellie crouched to put the dog on the ground. Her elbow was starting to ache. Not that she was about to admit that. The pain wasn’t just reminding her of the fall; her skin was remembering the touch of Julien’s hands as he’d checked her arm to make sure she hadn’t broken it. If she showed any signs of being in discomfort, he’d probably consider it his duty to check it again, and that didn’t seem like a good idea.

Maybe naming this dog wasn’t such a good idea, either. She was only going to foster the animal for a short time, not adopt it, and giving it a name seemed to suddenly give it more of a personality or something. But her gaze was caught by the small, scruffy face as she released her hold. The personality was already there, wasn’t it?

Pascal was sitting, his bandaged leg held carefully above any contact with the ground, looking up at her with his lopsided ears. And then his tail moved from one side to the other andback again, in a slow, slightly tentative, wag – as if he had been consideringherpersonality as well and was showing his approval. Or possibly that he had forgiven her for running him over.

‘Oh… he’s actually quite cute.’ Ellie couldn’t help smiling as she straightened. ‘Did you see that?’

Julien was smiling, too. A real smile, this time, and… what a smile it was. It gave him crinkles at the corners of his eyes and dimples in his cheeks.

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